


USA vs. Ghana

by DeathValleyQueen, justakidfromhellskitchen



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: AU, FIFA, Football, M/M, Soccer, World Cup 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 17:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1827028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathValleyQueen/pseuds/DeathValleyQueen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/justakidfromhellskitchen/pseuds/justakidfromhellskitchen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Parker and Harry Osborn used to belong to the same American football club. That is until Harry Osborn gets an offer to play for Liverpool and becomes a Premier League star. Now, years later, Peter and Harry meet again as they're both recruited for the US Men's National Soccer Team to play at the World Cup in Brazil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	USA vs. Ghana

Team USA. Peter almost giggled. He’d only been dreaming of this since he was ten and now it was finally happening. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the smell of grass. This was where he would train for the World Cup. How many young MLS players got to dream of this? He was going to live it. He was aware that he had a lot to prove this year. As one of only half a dozen MLS players chosen to represent Team USA, he’d have to show he was just as good as the stuck-up assholes who played for the Premier League most days out of the year. He’d heard that two players from Liverpool would be joining them, though he had no idea who they’d recruited. Some super secret publicity thing or another. Peter rolled his eyes as he thought of it. Liverpool. Not as bad as Man. U. (nothing was as bad as Man. U.) but Peter’s experience with PL players was that they were massive asshats with a superiority complex. He’d show them he could play just as well as they could.

Peter was early for practice. Only a few other players were warming up. Peter stretched, his headphones in. The playlist helped him get into the right frame of mind. They had to be ready. Soon, he was running lines as the rest of his teammates filled the the grounds. He waved to Kevin Ellis, a Sporting KC player he’d gotten to know over the last few years and one of the only people Peter knew by sight on the team.

Or at least, one of the only people Peter expected to know on sight. There, coming out of the locker rooms, was a face Peter knew from long ago. Harry Osborn. They’d played together briefly. Peter hadn’t expected to see him here and for a moment it froze him in his tracks. He hadn’t changed. Harry still had a smile that could convince a horse to buy flies. He still looked around at the field and people as if he owned them which, considering Peter had heard how much Liverpool was paying Osborn, wasn’t out of the question.

Ellis was standing next to him by then and followed his gaze. He spat lightly on the ground. “God I hate that man. You know they say Liverpool is paying him more than any other player in history. Kid’s our age, and he’s not even that good.”

Osborn shrugged off his dufflebag, and it hit the grass-covered field. Electric blue eyes hid behind a streak of perfectly blow-dried hair as he untied and tied his shoe again, compulsively. Then, as if sensing being talked about, he looked up right at Peter with a look of distrust mingled with recognition.

Peter swallowed hard and lifted up an awkward hand in a wave. Then he groaned and turned to Ellis. “We used to be teammates.”

“You’re shitting me.” Ellis was a little louder than Peter would have liked, looking between the two of them. “How did he get sent off to England, and you’re stuck with the Red Bulls?”

“Hey! At least my team isn’t in the middle of the Bible Belt.”

Ellis grinned. “You got me there. Come on, Liverpool can take care of himself. Let’s warm up.”

Which, as it turned out, was easier said than done. Peter found it pretty distracting that Harry was there. They’d gotten along pretty well as teammates before… Well, before Harry started talking about leaving the States to play with the “big boys.” Peter couldn’t imagine playing for another country. Still, Harry was here with Team USA, wasn’t he? Peter should talk to him. No, he should leave it alone. No, he should really talk with him. Damn it, he didn’t know what he should do. And if he kept staring, it would get way more awkward.

For his part, Osborn kept his distance throughout practice. When Klinsmann finally allowed them a much-deserved break, Peter’s eyes tracked Harry as he returned to his duffle to grab a sports bottle. Harry’s lips closed around the mouth. He tilted the bottle and sucked at the pull spout and drank. Water trickled down to his jaw and chin.

Then he lifted the bottle, squeezing it as hard as possible, pouring water over the pale skin of his neck and over his head. Dark blond hair was now completely plastered to Osborn’s scalp, making him look much smaller, a lot younger, maybe even more vulnerable.

And Peter? Peter was watching all of this and hating himself. His stomach fluttered as he watched beads of water trickle down Osborn’s neck, glistening in the early summer sun. Sweet Merciful God, why was this happening to him? He didn’t need this, not with the World Cup on the line. He tossed a bottle of water over his own head, happy that it cooled his overheated body.

Once his libido had a chance to be reigned in, Peter decided he might as well go and talk. He strode over to Osborn, aware of the various other PL players who surrounded Harry like he was the center of their solar system.

“Harry Osborn.” Peter extended his hand. “I don’t know if you remember me at all. Peter Parker.”

Harry’s smile almost looked genuine. Almost. “Peter Parker. How could I forget? Still playing for the Red Bulls. I thought you would’ve moved up the chain by now.”

With just one comment, the spell Osborn had cast with his stunning looks was broken. Sure, he’d been arrogant all those years ago, but this? Peter had to force himself not to clench his fists. Instead his smile turned tight, and he lowered the hand Osborn hadn’t bothered to take.

“The Red Bulls have their faults,” he admitted. “But then, none of our players are frequently suspended for biting people. How’s Suarez these days?”

Harry’s expression soured. “Worth about £227 million, apparently. That can’t be a horrible feeling.”

“I suppose it can’t. But then money never really mattered that much to me.” Peter’s smile grew even tighter. “So glad we’re gonna be teammates.”

Ellis had walked up beside Peter and flung an arm around him. “Hey kids.” He said, before ruffling Peter’s hair. “Drill time. You coming, Parker?”

“Yup.” As he and Ellis turned, they broke into simultaneous song. “He bites who he wants! He bites who he wants! Luis Suarez, he bites who he wants!” The handful of other MLS players took up the song and they sang one more round before bursting into laughter. Peter glanced back over at Harry just to see the look on his face.

Harry’s face was unnaturally blank. Clint Dempsey had walked over to Harry. He clapped Harry on the back, bumping shoulders, and whispering something in his ear. Osborn’s lip curled to a smirk, and he caught Peter’s eye, before nodding.

For a split second Peter hated himself. He looked down and away. He wasn’t always so petty and mean. In truth, his bitterness didn’t come from a place of jealousy. When Osborn had left the Red Bulls, Peter had felt betrayed. They’d started together on the team and while others had moved on, Osborn was Peter’s first friend, and when he’d left Peter had taken it badly.

Add to that the massive crush Peter had had on Harry and… Yeah. Things there were complicated.

The drills went less than perfectly. Peter was distracted. He kept making rookie mistakes or nearly getting himself hurt. Ellis kept giving him increasingly worried looks that Peter did his best to ignore. He tried to push Osborn out of his mind but, damn it, they had drills together. At one point, Peter snapped and turned on Osborn. “Watch your goddamn feet, Osborn!”

Harry raised an eyebrow, unamused. “Would you prefer I tackle you with my hands instead?”

“There’s tackling and then there’s being a fucking dick. We’re on the same side.” He got up close to Osborn, aware that his anger was mostly at himself but not really caring.

“Gentleman,” came the pleasant voice of Jürgen Klinsmann behind Peter, overlayed with a fine layer of a German accent. “Is there a problem?”

“No sir,” Harry said easily, flashing Klinsmann his polite smile. “Parker and I were just comparing tackling techniques.”

Peter took a breath and then nodded to Klinsmann. “We’re fine, sir.” He could see Ellis across the way heading towards him. Peter shook his head very subtly and Ellis stopped, falling back with the other MLS players. Peter looked back at Osborn. “Shall we start again?”

Klinsmann gave both of them a lingering look before walking off to the opposite side of the field to oversee the rest of the practice.

“Parker,” Osborn said as soon as Klinsmann was out of earshot. “What the hell is your problem with me?”

“My problem,” Peter said in a low, gruff voice, “is that just because you play for Liverpool, you and all your PL buddies think you are better than the rest of us. Just because I stayed with the Red Bulls doesn’t mean I’m not good. I got here on my own merits, not the merits of my paycheck.”

Osborn’s jaw jutted out threateningly. “Parker, I have no claims of being better than anybody else here, never have. We are a team. We’re not going to win the bloody Cup if we’re at each other’s throat constantly.”

He was right. Peter knew that. He wanted to say “You should never have left MLS.” No. Not true. He wanted to say “I thought we were friends” and “You should never have left me” because that’s what this really was about, wasn’t it? Peter had always had abandonment issues (who could blame him with two dead parents and a dead uncle) and Harry was just another victim of Peter’s misplaced desire for people in his life to stay.

Peter let out a long sigh. “Yeah. Ok.”

He didn’t say anything else for the rest of the practice. Even when they were headed to the locker room, Peter was silent. It was going to be a long, tense World Cup at this rate.

* * *

The air in the locker room was stifling, but it was the muffled cheers and screams of the spectators in the colossal stadium which pressed against Harry’s ear. It was hard to concentrate on Klinsmann’s pep talk. Stale sweat mixed with the smell of manufactured rubber filled the space filled with adrenaline-pumped sportists.

_Let’s just play already._

It was the first US match of the World Cup, and it was against Ghana. Ghana who had beaten USA back in 2006, 2-1.

The amount of pressure Harry felt was ridiculous. He was no stranger to high expectation from their fans; he did play for Liverpool after all. In the UK, especially in Liverpool, football was more than just a spectator’s sport. It was blood, it was breath, it was life. It was how people lived, and it tied to the people more intimately than perhaps familial relationships. That was the reason he’d chosen to play for Liverpool in the first place. They had not always been a rich team, and football was a symbol of hope in a city where the sky was overcast 364 days out of 365 and, historically speaking, everyone had been blue collar workers. Football was, and had always been, a beacon of hope there.

Harry had been charmed. He knew Liverpool was not a place most people would spend their vacations, but really, the entire country had charmed him. The landscape resembled that of New England--he had had an epiphany on his first red-eye from JFK to Heathrow, realising why the northwestern tip of the United States had been named after England--but with less trees.

Most of all, though, Harry had fallen in love with his fans. The fans who would wait for eight hours outside of his hotel room just to see him. The fans who would show up to a match, rain or shine. The fans who would defend their team no matter what the results of a game were.

Maybe it was the lack of parental love or Harry’s craving to feel on a deep level, but Liverpool FC had been his calling.

That was until he had heard about Peter Parker being recruited to the United States national team about two years ago. He’d seen the news segment from his hotel room in Edinburgh where he’d spent a quiet weekend in the emerald hills at a B&B with a girl whose name he could not remember. He’d sat up in bed, early morning, and turned up the volume of the flat screen to hear Peter’s familiar voice, his excited smile.

He’d call his manager. “Stan, I want to play for the US.”

So they hadn’t recruited him. That’s where Parker was wrong. He’d recruited himself, and mostly because of Peter. It cost him sleepless nights, a lot of travelling, and a lot of silver-tongued persuasion, but it had finally worked.

And the last year of training had been tense. Harry was used to performing under pressure, they all were, but this was different. It was not the fans. It was Parker.

_I wish I knew what his goddamn problem was._

Now his eyes slipped over to Peter across the locker room, clad in the red-and-blue uniform of the United States national team. And Peter Parker was a sight for the sore eyes. His uniform clung to all the right places, bringing into relief his pectorals and abs.

 _Bless tailor-fit uniforms_ , Harry thought, watching Peter’s tongue dart out to lick his lips. _I am in so much trouble._

Parker continued to listen to the pre-game pep talk with what seemed to be complete attention. There was a slight twitch in his leg and he shifted from time to time in his seat. Other than that, though, Parker gave no outward sign of nervousness. Indeed, his cool smile and self-affirming laugh even at jokes at his expense seemed to communicate complete faith in his ability and his team’s. If he felt Harry’s eyes, Parker didn’t give any signs.

Eventually Harry tore his gaze away when the locker room as a whole started to bustle. Apparently, Klinsmann’s words of encouragement were over.

 _Stick to the tactic, Harry_ , he told himself. _Tactic and you should be fine._

Easier said than done. Harry pretended to retie his shoe as the team filed out of the locker room.

“Parker,” he said, straightening up as Peter was moving past him. Harry stuck out his hand wordlessly.

Parker looked at it. Ellis, who was walking past, whispered something in Parker’s ear that made him smile. For just a moment, Parker didn’t move. Then, he reached out and grasps Harry’s in a firm grip. The corner of his mouth turned up. “Remember our first game with the Red Bulls? We were playing--- Wasn’t it DC United?”

“What a tense game,” Harry said with a nostalgic smile. He still felt the knot of that game in his stomach. He and Peter had worked together flawlessly.

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck and then took a breath. “Truce?”

Harry’s heart melted, and his courage flared. “Yeah. Let’s kick their ass.”

Parker’s smile reached his eyes. “USA! USA!” His call was taken up by a few more players and he beamed as he headed out for the lineup.

* * *

The whistle blew once again, and Peter watched as Harry tumbled down onto the grass, holding his shin, his eyes shut and grimacing. He curled onto his side, almost in a fetal-like position as if shutting the world out from his pain.

Peter had taken a quick run towards the Ghana player before Ellis and Dempsey put hands on his arm. He took a few deep breaths until his eyes could see more than just the red fury engulfing him. Then he nodded, and his teammates let him go. Peter rushed over to where Harry lay on the grass. “Osborn! Osborn, you ok? Please be ok…”

“Bastard,” Harry hissed through his teeth in reply.

The referee was having a heated discussion with the Ghanaian player, Mohammed Rabiu, who had fouled on Harry.

“...going for the ball!” Rabiu was saying, gesticulating wildly.

The referee was a calm Swiss man who had judged, Peter thought, seamlessly up until this very moment. He had a yellow card in his hand and kept motioning for Rabiu to step aside from his teammates so he could be given the yellow card.

What bullshit. Harry was clearly tackled from behind. Rabiu should have been red carded.

The problem was that this wasn’t the first time this had happened during the match, either. Ghana was playing hard and more than a little dirty. Which would have been fine, usually. It was football. Sometimes you got a little physical, a little touchy. But the majority of these abuses had been aimed at him and Harry specifically.

Which just wasn’t fair. More to the point, it put Osborn at risk. It put Harry at risk. Harry, who Peter was just now getting along with. He shook his head. The clock was running and he didn’t have time to dwell on bullshit yellow cards. They had a match to win. He extended his hand to Osborn. “Let’s make them pay for that.”

Harry took Peter’s hand, struggling to keep his weight off his injured shin as Peter pulled him up to his feet. “Listen,” Harry said while Ghanaian players continued raging at the referee. “You remember the feign we pulled against DC? Where it looked like I was going for the goal box but instead passed it back to you?”

Peter nodded. That had been when they had worked as impeccably as though sharing a brain. Could that happen again, now that the two of them were just starting to get along? "You thinking try it on these dicks?"

Harry glanced over at the Ghanians, and Peter could almost see what he was thinking. Their defense had been a blockade all game, and it was a wall rather hard to penetrate. But it wasn’t impossible. USA just had to be a little creative. “Yeah. If I can manage to keep the ball long enough… Just be directly behind me.”

The referee’s whistle blew again and the Ghanians started to draw back to their own field. The referee was talking to Dempsey, who nodded once, and took the football and aligned it on the grass.

it wouldn't be easy but it was possible. It was worth a try at any rate. He nodded to Harry and put a hand on the back of Harry's neck in a supportive, friendly gesture. "I got your back, Osborn."

* * *

 

Harry’s breathing stopped for a moment, feeling the heat of Peter’s fingers at the nape of his neck.

_Yup, definitely in trouble._

“Osborn!” came Dempsey’s voice from a distance. “Get over here.”

Harry gave Peter a last smile before sprinting over to their captain. “What’s up?”

“Are you going to take this free kick or am I?”

Harry thought about it. “Actually, I have a plan.”

Dempsey nodded for him to continue.

Harry quickly explained his plan in as few words as possible.

“Okay,” Dempsey said nasally. His nose was still swollen from being kicked in the face. “We don’t have much time to make this happen, Osborn. You gotta do it with this free kick or the game will be tied.”

Harry was very aware of the stakes. The clock read 87:35. Both teams were tied with a score of 1-1.

Harry took a deep breath and started to walk backward towards the Ghanaian line of defense. “Just make sure to curve the ball over to me.”

Peter bounced excitedly on the balls of his feet and shook his hands to loosen up tense muscles. He kept his eyes on Harry, a lion’s grin in his eyes.

_Peter Parker, you are going to be the end of me._

Harry took up position behind the line of defense, giving Peter a wink. The whistle shrilled, and Dempsey’s ball arched beautifully into the air. Harry Osborn saw his chance. No one was covering him. He caught the ball with his chest, then with great speed, headed straight for the goal box.

But he was no match for their opponents’ speed. At once, Ghana’s defense was upon him, attempting to wrestle the ball out of his grip. He dribbled past one, then two, but his front was still blocked by three Ghanaian players.

Keeping faith that Peter was in position, Harry feigned a kick with his right foot, distracting defense for just a second before sending the ball directly behind him.

Peter was apparently ready. In one swift, perfect kick, the ball projectiled and it sailed cleanly into the net. He skidded on the grass on his knees, stretched his arms, and fell onto his back. His smile could have powered small countries.

Harry let out a yell of disbelief before throwing himself on top of Peter in celebration with the rest of their teammates. Completely forgetting where he was and what he was doing, his lips brushed Peter’s. “So proud,” he kept murmuring. “So proud.”

* * *

Peter had gone slightly deaf after he'd scored. Only when Harry's lips brushes his did the roar of the crowd come back. Harry was proud of him.

When Harry had finally rolled off of him, Peter got to his feet, offering a hand to Harry. Osborn clasped Peter’s hand in his but instead of getting to his feet, Harry drew Peter nearer. His eyes were filled to the brim with tears. Then he drew Peter to himself and hugged the standing man fiercely around the middle.

Peter's stomach flipped. His cock made an interested twitch. He reached down and dug both of his fingers into that mussed hair. He tilted Harry's head back ever so slightly. He just looked into those oh-so-blue eyes. And he fell in love with Harry Osborn.

The remainder of the game went by in a blur until time was called, and his team formed itself in a celebratory circle, calling out to each other. Peter looked for Harry at once.

Harry all but pounced on him. “Parkeeeeeeeeeeeeeer!” he bellowed, and then started to chant. “Parker, Parker, Parker!”

The rest of the team followed suit. Soon the chants of Peter’s name filled the entire stadium.

Peter felt his ears turning bright red. He tugged Harry into a tight hug, eyes closed tight as he grinned. "I love you too."

 


End file.
